The Whipping Boy
by KTwain
Summary: When Sweets is told he must break up Booth and Brennan because of their daughter Christine, he gives and ultimatum: fire me. Suddenly adrift, he attempts to hide from the lab what he's done, and winds up in the most unlikely place striving for redemption.
1. Secrets

**Hey all! Back again with as yet another side character centric story ;) The kudos and credits though all go out to Jelsi4Life who literally dropped out of the sky to contact me sayin' "hey, here's a great story idea...will you help?" And I, being a sucker for punishment and having a soft spot for Sweets (oh come on, who doesn't?) agreed. The titular format is based off of songs...soundtrack to our story style. You guys may recognize a few. It's titled The Whipping Boy (testament to Sweets' past) by Train. Review, of course...and follow!**

* * *

"I refuse to talk to you." Booth stared straight ahead, his face spasming with anger. Sweets winced and dangled his wrist in front of his friend's face.

"I'm really, _really_ sorry. I just wanted to see if they were easy to get off and on. Daisy and I have been thinking about getting a pair and-"

"STOP!" Booth bellowed, smacking the steering wheel with one hand, and Sweets' arm away from his face with the other. The handcuffs jangled against the console and thudded dully on the seat. Sweets' face was a brilliant crimson. Booth shook his head furiously. "Just stop."

"Dude. Like I said. This was totally a bonehead move. I didn't realize if you hear the clicking sound they lock. So now I know." Sweets grinned sheepishly as Booth glared at him in skeptical amazement. The psychologist rolled his eyes.

"Oh _come on!_ Like you and Dr. Brennan haven't tried these on for size!"

"Get out of the car."

"What!"

"Get out of my car right now."

"We're on a stake out Booth! I can't just get out of the car!"

"Jesus Christ! You can't talk like that! We just had a baby! Bones, she's still on maternity leave! You cannot talk about…handcuffs…that are on _your body_ by the way…" Booth made a disgusted face again and yanked the glove compartment open. "Just find the keys, would ya?"

"I said I was sorry," Sweets griped.

"Well be sorry," Booth snapped. "And we're going to need those." Sweets bit his lip.

"Oh yeah."

A radio crackled on the dash.

"Ten-four we have possible suspect exiting building now."

"Crap. We need to move now." Sweets glanced up in panic, the keys still fisted in his fingers.

"But I'm not-"

"No time!" Booth barked, and pushed the handle of Sweets' door open for him. "Just come on!" He burst out of his own door, gun drawn. Sweets hesitated, still fiddling with the locknetics before he felt his tie being yanked like a dog leash and he stumbled to the ground, dropping the keys, the other handcuff still dangling open.

"Move it Sweets," growled Booth, his soldier clip faster than Sweets' regular morning jogs. He complied, panting, still being half strangled by Booth's fist in his neckwear.

"Hold it right there!" Booth shouted to a burly man barreling at them, using both hands to steady his gun. The suspect was built like a linebacker. He had a crazed look in his eyes that Sweets analyzed as a matter of practicality in the back of his mind as sizing up his opponents during his animalistic fight or flight response. Unfortunately for the psychologist, he was a good 60 pounds lighter than Booth, and several inches shorter. The suspect actually growled, and then charged.

Sweets held his breath and set his legs apart like he had seen people do on football games, not that he watched unless Daisy forced him to, but at the last second he realized that was the stupidest move in the book. With the rate of trajectory and combined mass and velocity the man was travelling, his collision with Sweets would undoubtedly compromise his spinal discs. And then he and Daisy's favorite sexual position would no longer be possible. Which would totally be a bummer.

So at the last possible second he stepped aside, glancing around for Booth, hoping he would step in and shoot the guy…in the leg or something. Unfortunately his brain registered the clicking sound before he was conscious of his fingers doing it; and then his legs were swept out from under him and he was being dragged along behind. However having 160 lbs of scrawny - well, he honestly preferred lean, psychologist – did give his attacker pause. Enough of one to give Booth time to pounce and Miranda his ass.

"You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you."

Sweets could only hide his face in blood red shame the entire rest of the day through booking and process until someone could find an extra key to let him out of being handcuffed to the perp.

He decided to get a different toy for Daisy.

* * *

"It really wasn't that bad!" Booth assured him later, clapping him on that back and sloshing the meniscus of the top half of his beer over the side of his high ball glass. Sweets sighed, dripping foam on his pants and set the heavy tumbler on the bar with a shake of both hands and a head, glancing around for a napkin.

"It was awful," he corrected mildly.

"For your first bust," Booth put in, taking a big swig of his own drink, "it was actually pretty good." Sweets looked up in actual astonishment, his hand glued to his crotch in a genuine Freudian gesture if he had ever seen one in shock at Booth's rare but hard won praise. He quickly looked back down to keep mopping at his pants.

"Why, do most first busts go like that?" he asked morosely, but hopefully, a bit of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. An answering one flitted around Booth's cheeks, biting at his temples into a full fledged grin of embarrassment.

"Ah hell yeah. Hell yeah. You should have seen Charlie. Or Shaw? Or _Bones_? I mean, she tried to shoot a guy while intoxicated. I mean, you're looking pretty good right now, handcuffing the guy to yourself."

"Betcha they didn't lock themselves in the handcuffs first," Sweets said miserably, drinking more of his beer. He blinked at it sleepily. He usually preferred something lighter. Like a martini. Beer was good, but in a can. The kind of beer that came with burgers on the porch on a Sunday afternoon. The stuff Booth liked was dark and strong and frankly smelled like urine. But somehow half of his glass was gone. Sweets raised his eyebrows and swallowed a very feminine hiccup.

"Well," shrugged Booth under his big leather jacket. "No," he admitted rather unwillingly. He used the same recalcitrant tone that he always used talking to Sweets. But this time it was tinged with regret, as if he honestly wished he could make him feel better. Sweets appreciated it.

"But you can leave that part out of the story, you know, when you tell it."

Sweets peered at him sidelong.

"Are you going to leave it out of the story?" Booth pursed his lips, glancing down at him, looking torn.

"It's a hell of a good story," he prevaricated, and Sweets knew he was doomed to be the laughingstock of the FBI until he died. But then something in the older man's face softened and he shrugged. "But nah. I'll save it until you don't need it anymore."

"Huh?"

"Until you're too you know, old, or bad ass or accomplished or something for it to be a big deal anymore. For now," Booth raised his glass and bumped it against Sweets' which still sat on the bar as he stared at him in stupefied amazement, "it'll just be between us. Tell it like you want it."

"Can we leave out the part where I got dragged?" Sweets asked hopefully. Booth spluttered into his beer.

"Nope."

"Damn."

"Hey I'm giving you one. You can pick. Being dragged or admitting you locked _yourself_ into the handcuffs."

"Yeah. Okay," Sweets agreed quickly. "I get it. It's funny."

"Plus no one would believe it if a first bust went perfectly. I mean, you've come a long way Sweets, but…" Booth shrugged a smile. Sweets slammed his beer down with a little more forced than he intended and spun on his bar stool with a faintly ingratiating smile.

"But what? What was that?" He pointed a finger and circled it around Booth's face. "What you just did there with your eyebrows?"

"My eyebrows?" Booth frowned a smile.

"That!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You said that I've come a long way but…" Sweets tried to mimic Booth's frowned condescension but by his friend's reaction it came off as extremely constipated.

"Look, I respect what you do-" Booth began.

"Really?" Sweets, who had taken a sip of beer in defeat, spluttered it back into his glass. Booth thwacked him between the shoulder blades.

"Jesus, yes of course I do that's why I work with you. To profile perps. Don't choke there sparky."

"Really, Agent Booth, that's what you're going with here? To profile suspects?" Sweets rolled his eyes. "I feel like we have the same conversation at least twice a week."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Booth stalwartly exclaimed.

"Right."

"You need to learn to take a compliment," Booth criticized. Sweets flushed a bit, feeling hot about the collar and knew his ears were pink. He told himself it was from the beer, but that wasn't much of a comfort.

"You're right. I apologize Agent Booth, that was rude. Thank you, for recognizing my profess-"

"But anyway," Booth steamrolled his explanation. "Like I was saying. You're good at what you do, but I'm glad you came out into the field since Bones has been on maternity leave. I mean, it's good to know you know…that someone…has my back. For Bones."

Sweets sat in silence, digesting. He burped behind a fist quietly and then winced at the completely inopportune time to do that. He peeped a glance at Booth who seemed totally unfazed by it. Apparently social norms of most males didn't find his overt masculinity to be incredibly off putting as his mother would have led him to believe growing up.

"Thank you," he finally said, not able to think of anything else to say. His head was swimming slightly. He felt completely inadequate. What a ridiculously trivial thing to say; for Booth that was pretty much the most heartfelt speech he had ever heard him make to anyone that wasn't Dr. Brennan. But then again, she was on a different scale entirely. (He had, in fact, written an entire book about that same topic.) Booth had paid him the highest compliment he could expect to receive and all he could think of to say was _thank you?_ He endeavored to search for something better and stared desperately into the bottom of his glass at the clear amber liquid that was much lower than he remembered it being as if it would spell out the answers.

"Look, normally I really, really, _really_ don't want to have this conversation," Booth began uncomfortably shifting in his seat and Sweets' head snapped up, his ears perking as if he were a Labrador retriever coming to attention at the sound of his master's voice.

"But?" he asked eagerly. He tried not to sound like he was begging for scraps.

"But…Daisy is the intern on Cam's next rotation, and Cam and I are best friends so she asked me to speak to you if anything was…up…with you and Daisy?"

Sweets stared at him unblinkingly for five long seconds before his brain informed him of what he was hearing.

"Are you…asking about my personal life, Agent Booth?"

"Not willingly," Booth admitted through gritted teeth.

"That is touching," Sweets smiled, and wavered slightly on his chair.

"Yeah, no more beer for you. No problems? Great!"

"Actually…"

"Damn." Booth hissed a huge sigh like a faucet hitting a frying pan, the steam coming off his burning red face in invisible great gouts. Seeing how reticent he was to talk, Sweets attempted to brush it off.

"Actually, never mind. It's just embarrassing."

"No, no, you've opened up the can of worms. Lay it on me."

"Really Booth, it's fine."

"Just tell me."

"It's not Daisy or anything. We're fine."

"What. Is. It."

"No really, you can tell Dr. Saroyan Daisy will be on her best behavior."

"Sweets, what is bugging you?"

"It's nothing!"

"It's something!"

"Just tell me!"

"I'm fine."

"GOD DAMN! JUST TELL ME!" Sweets cracked a tiny guilty smile.

"Not that this was my intent or anything, but now do you get what it's like for me every week?" Booth stopped mid bellow to stare at him nonplussed.

"What?"

"When you 'don't' want to talk about Parker, or Dr. Brennan, or your father?"

"You want to talk about your father?" Sweets froze.

"Damn you're good," he cursed quietly.

"It's not that hard of a leap," Booth said just as quietly, drawing even further into the shadows of the bar and Sweets followed him wordlessly. "The guy we caught today…beat up on little kids with a whip. You were a little kid. Got beat up on with a whip. Figured it would bother you. Just didn't know if you'd bring it up. Bones does that too. She'll pretend nothing's wrong so we'll talk about something else for hours and hours until she'll say something five minutes before closing."

"Oh." Sweets felt very small suddenly and realized why for the first time in his life why other people hated therapy. It didn't feel so very cathartic on the other end of the power play. It was really only fun playing God.

Booth didn't look at him as he turned his back to the bar and leaned heavily against it, nursing a new glass of beer and drinking deeply from it, staring out of the shadows until only the bottom half of his face was visible. Sweets realized he was waiting for him to start. Classic shrink move. And really annoying.

"I mean," he fumbled. How many times had he inwardly criticized others for that same inane phrase? "I've always been fine with it."

He didn't need to see the sardonic glance Booth was studiously not directing his way to know he was being called for his bullshit.

"What I mean is that…it doesn't come up much. You know. For me being a psychologist." Booth nodded grimly towards the ceiling as Sweets nodded morosely towards his mostly empty glass.

"And I don't know. The man today thought…_really_ thought he was doing the right thing 'educating' his children. Those kids will have scars for the rest of their lives." He angrily shoved his glass away from him down the bar, clenching his fists against the lip of it, almost whispering in his fierce fury to the faux grain wood. "Do you know what it's like to have scars from something like that? Scars you can't explain to anyone?"

There was an audible swallow.

"Yes. I do."

Silence.

It was Sweets' turn to swallow.

"Sorry. I forgot…who I was talking to."

"Yeah." Booth drank more deeply. Sweets had to wonder how Booth was on his second tall glass when he had barely managed to finish one.

"Look," Booth finally grated out. "I mean…you shouldn't have to apologize for the kind of man you are." He nodded and stared at the ground before shrugging. "I don't. And Jared doesn't. And part of that…part of Jared…that's my fault."

It was probably the closest omission Sweets was ever going to get from Booth about his past abuse with his father.

"Shouldn't your actions define you?" Sweets asked raggedly. Booth nodded. "Well then what the hell was that man thinking, beating those kids? What were our fathers-"

Booth clapped a hand to his shoulder to cut him off, both in comradery, and in a warning.

"Your actions define you. And today you did an amazing thing. So go home. See Daisy." He gave a wretched smile. "Don't play with handcuffs."

Sweets turned away, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder, uncomfortably lined over his old scars.

"Yeah man, sure." He could feel Booth watching him.

"Daisy knows. Right?"

"She's seen me naked," Sweets assured him with a forced laugh that sounded hollow and horrible to even his own ears. "Believe me."

"I do," Booth reminded him. "I've seen you both, like it or not." Sweets clapped a hand over his eyes and groaned at the memory. Booth laughed with him but his voice dropped chillingly as Sweets had heard it do with suspects, but never before with his own friends.

"She knows you have scars. She doesn't know what from?"

"She knows…they're from a different life," Sweets admitted evasively. "That I had a troubled past when I was a little kid." Booth raised both eyebrows, crossing his arms in a way that suggested Sweets couldn't call a cab until he spilled every last drop of truth. "Okay, so I told her I couldn't remember." Booth pressed his lips together in a thin judgmental line but said nothing.

"Look! It's not my fault!"

The line of Booth's mouth became thinner.

"Okay! It is. But you don't get it. I may not be the best at communicating with Daisy about all that…but I mean, my life is insane! I loved my parents. But I was into death metal! Daisy's life has been all puppies and rainbows, the white picket fence and being valedictorian while Daddy smokes cigars. I'm serious! The things we bond over are how much we love our families. And I really, really loved my parents Booth. My _real_ parents. The ones that adopted me. That's what I love about Daisy. Is how much she loves _her_ parents. But her life has been a fairytale. And she thinks it's sweet that I'm her prince. Her Lancelot. How can I take that away and show her that I'm not? That I'm just some kid whose mom was a junkie and whose dad beat the living shit out of him? I'm not a prince in a shining castle. I'm really messed up, pretty far down. And these scars? And the music? That's another lifetime. One I'd like to forget."

Booth rolled the thick glass tumbler thoughtfully between his large hands with a mulling perspective, his jaw also rolling discordantly with a series of sharp pops. His lips did not lessen their thin line before he looked back at Sweets.

"Well that's a load of shit." Sweets blinked. Booth's method of psychology was…well, crude. Well actually his method of psychology wasn't really a method of psychology at all.

"Um," he said brilliantly, blinking slowly at the agent.

"Look, Daisy has been there for you for the long haul."

"That's not true," Sweets spluttered. "She left me! For the Maluku islands. She rejected my proposal and took off."

"Yeah. And you took that really well. By taking a sabbatical, growing a soul patch and playing the piano." Sweets flushed Kool-Aid red.

"I was due for a vacation," he said stiffly. "That had nothing to do with-"

"Fffft," Booth made a loud farting noise. "Bullshit. Come on. Daisy will love you no matter what."

But Sweets was shaking his head even before he was finished.

"Hey," Booth's bark was sharp. "If she doesn't, than she's not the kind of girl you should think about marrying."

Sweets' eyes went wide. Booth's eyebrows went up and a bit of a smile hitched the side of his face as he fiddled with the ring that glinted in the light, walking it on the backs of his fingers.

"Where did you get that!" Sweets gulped.

"Nicked it," Booth said casually, "from your pocket." Sweets grabbed at his pocket where he kept his mom's ring. Sure enough, the small set diamond stone was in Booth's hand, and not next to his car keys.

"Fine then," Sweets shot back, his indignation and slight inebriation making him brave. "If you're so wise, have you told Dr. Brennan about all the abuse you've been through?"

There was a dead quiet that Sweets wasn't sure he made up as the Founding Fathers went silent and the ring clunked to the floor. He scrabbled after it and snatched it up, breathing a sigh of relief as he slipped it into his pocket.

"Shut up Sweets," Booth growled, spinning back into his chair and draining the last of his beer.

"So you haven't?" he pressed. Booth simply grunted and kicked his shoes at the front of the bar. Sweets made a decision that felt both very brave and very foolish. He reasoned it was probably the atmosphere.

"Look," and to his surprise, Booth actually looked at him. "I'll try to talk about it with Daisy…if you'll make the attempt with Dr. Brennan." Booth's mouth resumed its former tight line.

He jerked a very tight nod, which Sweets took to be agreement.

"Come on Sweets," he finally said, and his voice sounded like a bucket of gravel. He jerked his hand up for another drink, but Sweets firmly jerked it back down, shaking his head at the bartender. Booth glared fiercely at him, but didn't contest the point after shaking him off. "Just because you had shitty parents…doesn't mean…" Booth shrugged. "You know…anything."

Booth was nothing if not eloquent. He tried again, hitching half a smile. "Look. That guy today. He was bigger than you. He was meaner than you. But in the end you were smarter than him; that counts for a lot. It's more about your head, and the decisions you make." Sweets nodded jerkily, wiping his face into his jacket hard as he pulled it on before emerging from its depths with his calm once again in place.

"Yeah. Yeah I know. Thanks."

Booth clapped him on the shoulder outside the Founding Fathers and they peeled apart, Booth to his car, and Sweets to walk home.

* * *

On the table in his apartment _The Heart of the Matter_ lay forgotten. He sighed and threw his jacket over it, hiding his unfinished manuscript from himself. Christine complicated everything. Through a crack in the door he smiled.

Daisy was sprawled across his bed, snoring up a storm as she always did, although she insisted (even when he recorded her) that it was him who snored. He slipped through the opening, skipping the creaky floorboard, and undid his tie, which was cinched shut at the knot from Booth's yanking.

He sank onto the bed to concentrate and felt Daisy's hand slip around his waist with a sleepy murmur.

"I missed you Lance," she whispered in a slur.

"I'm sorry," he smiled. "I had my first big bust today." He finally managed to get the noose off of his neck and started on his shirt. He wrestled out of his undershirt and into pajama pants. He hesitated at the soft cotton shirt he usually wore to pair with his favorite Star Wars pj pants. He could feel Daisy's suddenly alert brown eyes feasting on his ivory white scars shining in the moonlight.

"Lancelot?" she whispered. He threw the blue super soft polo shirt back in its drawer and slammed it shut. He turned around, swallowing hard. He climbed into bed, sliding into his own spot, shivering slightly at how cold it was on his bare skin.

Hesitant fingers stroked over his chest.

"You never sleep without your shirt on."

"Daisy," he said quietly, returning the stroke to her hair with a sad smile, "I have something to tell you." She leaned in with a delighted smile to kiss him.

"Okay," she giggled. He groaned.

"Not that kind of thing."

"Right," she whispered. She ignored his hands attempting to push her off. She was smaller than him, but fiercer. His hands became weaker and weaker and finally he whispered:

"In the morning…" Before he gave in.

In the background his phone buzzed six times, which let him know someone was calling him. It buzzed once after that, letting him know someone had left a voicemail. When he got up much later to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night he checked it. It was from the FBI director and his boss, directing him to be at the building tomorrow at 9 am sharp.

* * *

(Title Track: Secrets by One Republic)


	2. Broken

**Come on kids. I know you've got more reviews in you than that!**

* * *

Sweets groaned at the death star interlude that was his phone alarm. His hand automatically felt the sheets next to him for Daisy but the cold cotton let his skin know long before his gummy eyes could crack themselves open that she was gone. She was probably already at the lab, trying to impress Dr. Brennan, and irritating the crap out of Cam.

He flicked his hand out and spun his phone into bed, flipping onto his back so that he could read any texts. There was a predictable one from Daisy, wishing him a good day and a promising surprise later as an apology for running out on their morning wake up ritual. He frowned at the text.

"Look down at your shoulder."

He smiled when he stared down. Perfectly etched in pink lipstick was a kiss on his bare shoulder, testament to Daisy's new approval to his sleeping habit. He texted back a thank you and hauled himself out of bed to get dressed, casually holding the phone to his ear to check his voicemail he had heard go off in the middle of the night.

Agent Hacker requested a meeting at 9 am.

Sweets' gut dropped as he soundly wrestled into his pant leg, having crammed both feet into one hole in surprise. He had to squirm out of it, panting as he writhed against the sheets, listening to the voicemail play ominously over and over, pulling his feet out of his now stretched out pants. He put them on with a gulp and belted them shut.

He carefully selected an inoffensive, masculine tie and shrugged into his jacket before padding back into the kitchen. He and Daisy's little used landline blinked red. His eyebrows went up. A message? He swallowed a sick feeling. Only one person…one couple…ever called that number. He indented the recorder with a heaved sigh, his day already overwhelming.

"Hey kiddo! That's my Daisy doo," the loudspeaker crackled to life with a chuckle of a Southern accent of a man in his late prime. His voice cracked with whip like inaccuracy, but he enunciated each word with a rolling precision; he never drawled. "And hey there Mr. Sweets!" Sweets blew out another a sigh. There was a clatter on the other end of the line and a murmur of a woman's voice. "Oh er- I mean, _doctor_, doctor is it? Doctor! Well there, son, that's just fine. We're going to be in town again for a few days. Daisy, is it all right if we stay with you?"

Sweets shook his head in horror at the answering machine as if they could see him.

The woman's voice interrupted again.

"Now Charles, stop it. You're being ridiculous. We'll stay in a hotel Daisy, of course." Her voice was sharp and pointed with the beaky north Eastern accent he would have expected. He nodded hopefully.

"But anyway sweetheart, we're excited to see you again after so long. We can't wait to hear all about your job. Are you still doing that thing with bones? Silly, silly. But whatever makes my little girl happy."

Sweets couldn't help but grin.

"And we're just wonderin' if you know, there's any…_news_…we should be knowing about, if you catch my drift?"

"Charles!" the woman in the background screeched. "Give me the phone!" Sweets dropped his face into his hands.

"What your father means is are you _engaged_ yet? For God's sake Daisy Elise Carmichael Wick, have you added another name to your gods mouthful of a name?"

"Oh God," Sweets groaned. "Oh God."

"And I'm getting up here in years honey," came her father's gravelly voice, from what seemed to be around a mouthful of something. "I could stand to see you with a few grandbabies."

Sweets opened his mouth again, but like a fish on dry land, it was like he couldn't breathe around the innocently southern word _grandbabies._

"Oh good god Charles! Will you put that foul thing out!" There was a loud beep and the recorder came back on, informing him it was the end of the message.

Sweets pushed both of his hands shakily through his curly black hair and realized that he had sweated through his shirt in the thirty seconds it had taken to play the message. He traipsed reluctantly back to his bedroom to change before heading to his meeting. He reflected rather darkly that at least it couldn't be worse than that.

He would later kick himself for that.

* * *

Agent Hacker opened his office door for Sweets and ushered him in, but Sweets was totally unprepared for Director Reynolds to also be present. Director Reynolds was about three steps above Agent Hacker in the ladder of bosses, and Hacker was Booth's boss by about three steps already. Sweets gulped.

"Please," Hacker said with a pleasant smile, "have a seat." Despite his friendly appearance, Sweets had never felt so threatened in his life.

"Do you know why you're here, Agent Sweets?" Director Reynolds said blandly.

"Dr. Sweets," Sweets corrected both automatically and glibly. He regretted it instantly both by the frozen tension in Hacker's face and the frozen tundra on Reynolds' face as he slowly turned ice blue eyes towards Sweets.

"Right," he smiled a tiny, conspiratorial smile, and Sweets knew that would be the last concession he would win in the entire confrontation. He had never been so terrified in his life. Not ever.

"I'm afraid," Sweets gulped, and realized his omission had been punctuated by a pause, a dead giveaway of the truth, not lost on either agent, highly trained in lie detection in interviews, but he rushed on regardless, "I don't."

"It's about your book." Sweets felt his heart thunder, but skip a beat. Was that all?

"_The Heart of the Matter?"_ He frowned. "It's on hold for a while."

"Ah yes," Hacker smiled faintly ingratiatingly. "That is very interesting. About Agent Booth and…Temperance," here he too paused, to let everyone in the room know his intentions were quite clear, "Brennan." Sweets had never felt a rush of hate so hot towards anyone. Hacker's leer was quite clear. He was obviously a sore loser. Sweets felt sick that he had once condoned Brennan's relationship with him, as trivial as it had been.

"But no," Director Reynolds cut off Hacker as effectively as snipping scissors would a thread. Hacker lost his voice. Reynolds had carefully constructed but thick mousy brown hair parted in the middle that shook slightly when he spoke. "We're talking about your _other_ book."

"What other book?" Sweets said blankly, his eyes wide and innocent.

Both men smiled with identical head cants to the right, hooked sneers over their temples.

Hacker took out a laptop. Sweets tried not to blink but his eyes watered so badly that he had to rub one with his fist. He hope that didn't make it look like he was crying.

"You should know better Dr. Sweets, than to work on your government issued laptop. Anything you work on here is property of the FBI." He knew, with a horrible gut wrenching sinking suspicion that they were right.

Hacker handed it to Director Reynolds, who opened it and clicked only three times before spinning it back around. The cursor was blinking in the perpetual Roman numeral for one, over and over where Sweets had left off, stumped.

"There are certain…concepts, in this file, Dr. Sweets, that the FBI feels are…sensitive." Director Reynolds was picking his words with greatest delicacy, as if stepping between landmines, or over the broken brittle teeth of Sweets after he punched him. Sweets shivered in his chair, still intact but waiting for the inevitable.

"The public has a right to know," he made the attempt at bravery, the words feeling foolish in his mouth. He really wished Booth knew where he was right now. He knew that the two men in front of him weren't going to hurt him…physically. But they could wreak damages in other ways. On things he loved more than his face.

"The cases you touch on here," and Director Reynolds accentuated his point by slightly bending the laptop screen so that it caught the glare of the fluorescents and became unreadable, "such as Gormogon, Howard Epps, the Grave Digger, and especially Max Keenan…well they are just ripe with details that the public…and the media…were not privy to for a reason."

"It would paint a bad face for the FBI," summed Hacker succinctly, with a small, sarcastic smile.

"So we have devised a way for this to not be a problem anymore," Director Reynolds agreed with a tightening of his lips. With two quick keystrokes he selected the document.

"No-" Sweets started, struggling to get up. Hacker's hand was hard on his shoulder as he suddenly loomed behind him. "Wait-" he said weakly, but Reynolds had already hit delete.

"Oh don't make such a dramatic fuss," Hacker snapped. "We know you have copies."

"I don't," Sweets objected miserably.

"It's your work email," Hacker retorted, "we know you do." Sweets fell silent again, thinking hard. He swallowed, staring at the carpet. The other two waited patiently in the silence, obviously giving him time to regain his composure.

_Well it's not ideal_, he thought to himself, _so I can't publish while I work for the FBI. Big deal. I'll just have to wait until I retire. Until I'm 70. By then they'll both probably be dead, Reynolds for sure. _Sweets felt like crying. _But my entire audience, the only people who will care about these cases, who will have been alive during these cases…they'll be as old as I am! Unless I count the conspiracy nuts like Hodgins who live for this kind of stuff…huge loss in money though. Who am I kidding, it was never about the money._

But deep down, a part of him knew it was. It was about a bit of the glory, a bit of the shine of stepping out of the shadows and being the first to publish the tell all about what _really_ went on behind the scenes at the Jeffersonian, behind the scariest cases DC faced in the 21st century. It was instant fame, legendary standing in psychology, in criminology, his other (and oft forgotten) major. He would be remembered. He would have a legacy. That's all he really wanted…a legacy. Something to make his parents proud.

"Dr. Sweets?" Agent Hacker was wearing his not-so-friendly smile again. Now Sweets realized what Booth had meant when he had tried explaining Hacker's face during something about a confrontation about…an egg? Wait. That didn't make sense. Sweets snapped his head up.

"Yes?"

"We know that this comes…well…as a bit of a shock, but this wasn't the main reason we called you into our office today."

"It's not?" Sweets gulped.

"No," Director Reynolds said very gently, putting his hand over his desk as if reaching for Sweets. Almost involuntarily, Sweets clamped his hands together to try to keep from reaching out to it. He bit the inside of his cheek angrily. He hated this man with a passion so fierce it hurt his insides. His mother's gentle voice rang in his head.

_It only hurts you to hate people Lance. They can't feel it._

He tried to tone down his animosity and school his features back to neutrality. He knew his paper white skin was turning red.

"And what is the main reason?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"It's about Agent Booth," Director Reynolds began.

"And Temperance," Hacker interrupted, clearly flaunting his ability to use her first name so casually. Sweets ground his gritted teeth back and forth and stared at the shiny mahogany wood as if he could incinerate it with the force of his will.

"What about them?" he asked less than politely.

"They just had a baby," Director Reynolds said in his most jovial tone, his face smiling everywhere but his ice blue eyes. Sweets couldn't look away from them, and found them to be disquieting and nauseating simultaneously. He tried not to swallow because he was sure if he did, Reynolds would watch the Adam's apple bob up and down his throat.

"Yes, they did," Sweets agreed cautiously. "Christine. Their daughter."

"This complicates things," Hacker put in gleefully. Reynolds glared at him, and Hacker sat, a recalcitrant dog in the corner chair.

"I don't see how," Sweets knew it was coming. He could feel it deep in his bones like a cancer, a horrible sickening bone marrow disease, eating him from the inside like lead. He wanted to sprint away, but it kept him rooted to his chair.

"Look, Dr. Sweets," Director Reynolds said with a friendly smile, folding his hands in a fatherly gesture on top of Sweets' closed laptop in a way that suggested Sweets was never, ever going to see it again, "I understand you're their psychologist."

"And their friend," Sweets said stalwartly.

"And their friend," Reynolds agreed with an easygoing tug to his lips that suggested otherwise. "But sometimes things happen. Things change. That's the way the world turns. And this time it was for the better!" He rubbed the corner of his eye. "Those two crazy kids found love in each other. And they made a baby. A family."

Sweets' mouth was so dry he couldn't tell if he was breathing through his mouth or his nose. He discreetly put his right hand in front of his face to check and realized he wasn't breathing at all. His hand was red and swollen, covered in tiny crescent shaped cuts where his nails had rent little scratches into his skin.

"And?" he said quietly. Gasped.

"And," Director Reynolds shrugged. He let his knotted hands fall apart with a definite finality that could only have one meaning.

A clock ticked somewhere far too loudly.

"What are you saying?" Sweets' tongue was numb. His words sounded slurred, drunk. His night with Booth last night had been more sober.

Director Reynolds looked annoyed with his incompetence. He motioned for Hacker to do the honors, who looked only too happy to rip Sweets apart.

"What we're saying is that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan are too emotionally attached now. They can no longer think rationally as a team." Agent Hacker grinned like a kid at Christmas who watched his brother unwrap a bike while he unwrapped a sweater. At least he got this much. Vindictive bastard.

"And we want _you_ to write a report stating as much," Hacker finished. Sweets' head, which had been sinking lower and lower with the amount of information being computed into it until it almost touched his knees in nausea, flipped up in surprise.

"What? No! No. No. No. No….No." Sweets realized he was mumbling over and over until he stopped with a final no clearly enunciated between his teeth, almost spitting in Director Reynolds face with slow building fury.

"You are their psychologist. You are an employee of the FBI. This is your _job_," Agent Hacker reminded him.

"It's unethical!" Sweets spluttered.

"How so?"

"After all they've been through!" Sweets shrieked, finally standing, gesturing at the window. "After all they've done for you! They're your best team!"

"No," Hacker tried to butt in.

"Yes!" Sweets shouted back, pacing angrily back and forth. "God! You're such…such…_assholes!_ Seriously! I mean, seriously. I've been their shrink for four years. Four. YEARS. And I've seen them through almost everything. And they tell me nothing! Nothing! And still I've written a whole book about them! About their partnership and how I wish I had that! About how my girlfriend and I are nothing like that! But how I strive every _day_ to be the kind of man Booth is! Jesus Christ you people are insane. Just insane."

"Now calm down," Hacker stammered. "Just calm down. All we're asking you to do is-"

"I know what you're asking me to do and I won't do it! I won't! That's impossible. And I refuse!"

"Refuse?" Director Reynolds raised his eyebrows. "Refuse? You can't refuse. It's in your job description."

"Now easy there tiger," Agent Hacker was actually sweating, glancing like a Ping-Pong player from each man trying to get them to settle. "Come on Dr. Sweets. Don't throw your career away for just one case-"

"One case! They're not a case!"

"Okay, your friends. I get it. They're your friends. And they can still be your friends. We're not asking you to take away their baby. They just can't be in the field together. It's dangerous for the baby. Think about it rationally man! Gunshots and murders, both parents out there…if they are really your friends-"

"They're my family!" Sweets bellowed.

The clock ticked so loudly it drowned out his thundering heart.

The three men stared at one another, each waiting for the next move.

"I can't," Sweets finally whispered. "I can't do this. So here's my ultimatum. It's me or them."

"Excuse me?" Hacker gaped.

"What!" roared Reynolds.

"Me or them," Sweets said firmly.

There was a long, ripping pause that tore at the seams of Sweets heart because he knew before it finished who would get picked. And it wasn't going to be the whipping boy.

"Them," Director Reynolds finally said. "But they aren't going to stay together. They're still up for review. All you've done is get yourself fired. Now get out of my office."

"My office, sir," Hacker corrected mildly.

"OUT!" screamed Reynolds. And Sweets went, marching like a soldier, with indignation stiffening his spine, and rage his stiff upper lip.

* * *

The car ride was excruciating. From the latin _cruciare_ – to crucify. As soon as he had hit Route 1 and the demo cd of Skallë he had stolen for times like these he hid in his glove compartment was screaming as loud as the amps would go, the tears came out.

What had he done?

He had lost the only job that had ever meant _anything_ to him. He had done it for good reasons, sure. But no more seeing Booth at work. No more helping on cases. No more after bust drinks with the guys. No more busts. His first would be his last.

His strong silent tears became horrible gut wrenching sobs that he pulled his sun visor to the side to hide from the other drivers.

He pulled into his driveway and spent two minutes wiping his face until it looked somewhat presentable in the mirror. A very pale version of himself stared back at him, looking grim and determined.

He took the elevator instead of the stairs, even though he hated when other people did that who didn't have large boxes or crutches. But he was just so very _tired_. It was only ten in the morning, and suddenly having grandchildren seemed like the best of the pressures he had faced. He slipped into his cool dark apartment with relief so acute he actually cried a tear or two of shame before slipping back into the pajamas he had thrown into the hamper. Daisy's pink lipstick was still on his shoulder where he hadn't washed it off. He felt sick and ashamed to even stare at it, knowing what he knew. He shoved his head through the hole of a shirt just to cover it up, too exhausted to shower, and fell back into bed.

* * *

"Lance. Lance wake up." Something plastic smelling brushed his nose. "I've got a surprise for you." That was Daisy's super syrupy voice. He groaned. Unlike in movies where people woke up confused, he wasn't afforded that luxury. Not even a few blissful seconds of bewilderment. He knew exactly what had occurred. What Daisy's voice promised, and whatever she was shoving in his face, he was not in the mood.

He groaned.

"That's it, up, up," she coaxed. He groaned again, but not in the good way. Her words had a horrible double meaning he could not live up to. He dragged the pillow over his head.

"Nope!" she chirruped playfully. She snatched all the covers off of him, leaving him freezing.

"No," he snapped. She smacked him, hard, with something plastic on the back of his leg. He shot up in bed, irritated and confused. How could she _not_ understand that he wasn't playing?

His eyes popped open wider than he had intended and he had to knead them to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. Daisy was dressed head to toe in a black leather zip up. He knew the costume. Any fan boy would. Black Widow, from Marvel Comic Avengers. He felt his tongue swell up without his knowledge. She giggled and took this as prerogative to wave the plastic thing she had smacked him with.

It was a gun. Not a real gun, of course, though Sweets could have lent her his. Though the thought of Daisy toting a real gun was too frightening to be sexy. He winced. As good as Daisy looked in zip up black leather, he was too depressed for this to have any effect at all.

"I know you've been wanting this," Daisy giggled, but she quickly schooled her features for the cosplay and lowered her voice an octave.

"Has it been a…hard day, doctor?" She glanced down suggestively. Sweets only wished he could make it so. He gave her a half smile.

"Yeah. It has. Look Daisy-"

"Shh. Who's Daisy?" She laid a finger over his mouth and climbed into bed with him.

"I've been looking for a doctor," she continued with a sweet, simple but flattering smile. "We have a good team, but," she heaved a huge sigh that actually unzipped the front of her leather costume without using her hands, "we're really looking for a doctor…like you…"

Sweets hung his head. Daisy seemed to think he was admiring the view but he honestly wasn't. Of _all_ the days, why today? Why did fate have to kick him in the groin, almost literally? He couldn't enjoy probably the geekiest thing, and the sexiest thing, Daisy had ever gone out of the way to do?

"Look Daisy, I'm sorry but I can't," Sweets put his hands on her arms, pushing her off of him again.

She giggled and flipped underneath him willingly, pulling him on top of her with the gun to his groin and a hand in his shirt. She stuck her tongue too far down his throat and caught him off guard. Sweets choked.

"Stop it! Stop Daisy, I mean it!" He rolled off the bed, standing and wiping his arm over his mouth in disgust. Daisy pouted, pushing herself up on her elbows.

"What's wrong Lance? I knew you were excited for the Avengers and wanted to surprise you."

"You never listen Daisy. You never _hear_ me. You always do what you want to do, which is fine, because I love spoiling you. But please, could this relationship be about me for ONE SECOND?"

"Lance?" she swung her legs out of the bed in genuine concern, holding a hand out he swatted it away.

"No, don't do it now because I had to _tell_ you to do it. Now the gesture is basically meaningless. Daisy I _want_ you to want to care about me."

"I do! I do care about you Lance. You're…you're my prince."

"But what if I'm not?"

"Not what?"

"Not your prince."

"I don't understand," she faltered.

"I'm not Prince Charming!" Sweets felt himself grow redder and redder and knew his voice was getting higher. "I'm not Daisy. I'm just not."

"Lance, what's wrong?" Daisy, on the other hand, was becoming unusually and dangerously quiet. "Lance. You're scaring me."

"I can't always be what you want Daisy. I can't always be your plaything. I can't always be your perfect life! I can't always be happy an-an-and say horrible things in a cheerful voice and pretend that no one notices because they _do_ Daisy. People _notice_. And I have to clean it up!"

"Did something happen today?"

"And when your parents call and ask about when we're going to have children and what am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to say? That I'm sorry, that we're going to give them away because nobody wants them like they did me?"

"Was it the bust last night?"

"And then when we try to build a perfect family like yours what if…what if someone comes and just RIPS it apart, Daisy, what then? What if they do that? And guess what, I bet you that you won't even notice because you never _listen_!"

"Lance. I've never seen you act this way."

"Just shut up." Sweets gulped down the words almost as soon as he had whispered them. Daisy's eyes half filled with tears.

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Daisy gave a half enraged, embittered laugh.

"Oh my GOD, Lance, you're a shrink! You always want to talk about it!"

"Not with you. Because you are always so…so…selfish!"

"Me? Me! Lance, what is going _on_?"

"Remember that time when I asked you to marry me Daisy?" Sweets knew as soon as he opened his mouth he would regret this jab for the rest of his life, but his harsh angry self couldn't stop, a hot tidal wave of fury was engulfing him with congratulatory moral righteousness. "Remember that time when you just…left? Just took off and left for some islands halfway around the world and crushed my heart and soul?"

"Yes! Yes!" screamed Daisy, no longer cute or sexy in her all black leather, but looking lost and scared, holding herself together, crossing her arms and backing away. "And I'm sorry Lance, I really am! But it's something I needed to do. And I would do it again."

"What?" Sweets felt that word drip from his lips solidly.

"I would do it again," Daisy sobbed. "Because at that moment, I wasn't sure who I was, or where I needed to be. And I had to be sure. So I left, so I could be sure I needed to stay. And I know you don't want to hear it right now but I love you."

She ran from the room in tears. She didn't even stop to change before the front door to his apartment slammed shut.

Sweets slumped in front of his home laptop. An email from Angela informed him that there was a party tomorrow night for Brennan who was returning from maternity leave. Sweets swallowed. It would take months for the FBI to find a psychologist to replace him for a case as high profile, complex and involved as Booth and Brennan's. In that time period, he could devise a plan of how to get his job back. In the meantime, he would have to think up a plausible reason to be gone for that long. He was banking on the FBI not telling Booth why they fired him; they would try to keep the two partners together as long as possible until the new psychologist could clear the paperwork. Brennan had a lot of money, power and influence through the Jeffersonian, various science circles and the press with her author's name. It was best not to irritate her until the paperwork was free and clear. It was just enough time for Sweets to move stealthily. He didn't want to hurt his lab family the way he had been hurt, or for this problem to tear them apart the way it had already begun to tear him and Daisy apart. He began to think up lies for tomorrow.

* * *

(Broken by Lifehouse)


	3. Down

******S****treet credit to Jelsi4Life for the ongoing ideas and outlines. **As always, Daisy is scintillating. 

* * *

"Have more," Sweets offered generously to Angela, pouring another glass of wine.

"No," she laughed, but she didn't pull her cup away either.

"Are you trying to get my wife drunk?" Hodgins pouted.

"Sorry, sorry," Sweets grinned, and gave Hodgins a flavorful dollop. Hodgins grunted to know when to let him stop.

"What's the occasion?" Hodgins asked in surprise.

"Oh Dr. B is coming back to work, you know how Booth will be," Sweets lied quickly, laughing, and luckily the two of them laughed as well, although Sweets' face felt cracked and raw ever since his fight with Daisy the night before. His entire day had been agonizingly long. He had rarely had a day in which he simply sat and did nothing before, but that's what he had done, stared at the television, whether it had been on or not he couldn't say.

Hodgins' and Angela's front door opened to their right and the three turned in synchronization. Booth and Brennan came in together, Daisy slipping in the shadows behind Brennan.

"Daisy's just coming in?" Angela asked in surprise. Sweets avoided her tacit question by refilling his own cup and gulping it down too quickly, filling his mouth with wine instead of words. Sweets watched as Daisy edged around the other interns, trying unsuccessfully he was happy to note, to move towards him through the crowd. She was stopped by Fisher who drolly asked her something about an article, but Sweets noticed his eyes never left her shirt. He wrenched his gaze away and tried to talk animatedly to Hodgins but forgot what their conversation had been about.

"Sorry, what?"

"The new Hobbit movie," Hodgins repeated again.

"Yeah, yeah," Sweets enthused. "Just saw the trailer." He declined to mention he had just found the time to see it this afternoon.

"Looks epic!" crowed Booth, coming up to their circle, and Angela peeled away with a roll of her eyes towards Brennan, to Sweets' relief. Angela was too observant by half, though he was less than enthused to have Booth next to his right.

"Here, catch up," Hodgins crowed at Booth and to his dismay, Sweets felt the bottle of wine being yanked from his grasp. He made a mewl of protest as Hodgins poured for Booth who protested. Sweets had definitely wanted to be in control of how much everyone drank; Booth's abstinence, while he lauded as his shrink, made him uneasy as a friend. Everyone would take this better a little tipsy. There wouldn't be quite as many awkward questions.

"All this for my returning to work?" a familiar voice said and Sweets spun around a little too quickly, his rush to fill his mouth to avoid answering awkward questions making his head spin and his cup empty. Brennan laughed and caught his arm, her own cup still sloshing full. She sipped cautiously and made a face. Sweets wished desperately he could think of a reason she would drink more.

Angela came up, her eyes twinkling.

"Come on sweetie, have a drink with me!" Brennan crinkled her nose, but obligingly took a gulp of her glass as a toast to Angela. Sweets felt a little of his chest loosen.

"Have another on me!" he added mimicking the toast to Brennan, after she had barely lowered her glass. Without hesitating she took another swig. Call after call came for Brennan to drink to them and only when her cup was empty was she allowed to rest.

"I am going to regret this," she chuckled ruefully to Booth, who came to catch her arm with raised eyebrows. Sweets silently refilled her wine glass. Everyone stared at her expectantly.

"I'm not tipsy yet," she snapped tartly. "My body will need about ten minutes." Everyone laughed.

"We better get drinking then," Cam dimpled. Sweets let out a huge breath of relief.

"Way ahead of you babe," Angela giggled. Hodgins had brought out another cask of vintage wine from their cellar and people flocked toward him.

Sweets saw Daisy inch towards him, working her way around the clusters of laughing people. He quickly ducked behind someone to avoid her. Unfortunately, the bigger, broader shouldered person he had chosen happened to be Booth. The older man frowned down at him.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Don't play innocent with me. You're avoiding Daisy."

"I…uh…" Sweets brilliantly countered.

Booth raised his eyebrows. "What, did you two get into a fight?" Sweets reflected that Booth should know better than anyone not to ask suspects leading questions like that to hide behind. Sweets seized the excuse, which wasn't exactly a lie.

"Yeah. We got into a fight."

"Was it your fault?" Booth could tell by Sweets' crestfallen face that it was. He heaved a blustery sigh.

"Look, I'll run interference."

"What?" Sweets looked up in utter disbelief. Booth regarded him impatiently.

"I said I'll run interference. Just stop ducking down and looking so guilty. But you know how I feel about Daisy. I might even have to sick her on Cam, and then I'll owe Cam big time, which means you'll owe me _doubly _big time, and even Cam some. Do you get me?" Sweets nodded fervently.

"You have no idea what this means-"

"Here she comes," hissed Booth in interruption, shoving him hard between his shoulder blades and spilling a little wine down one pant leg. "Get moving!" Sweets slipped between Arastoo and Hodgins right as Daisy swept past Booth.

"Daisy!" he heard Booth say in a horribly pleasant tone. "Have you seen Sweets?"

"Lance? Oh! I've been looking everywhere for him! Haven't you seen him?"

"We can look together then," and then Sweets had moved off too far to hear anymore. He reflected that he didn't deserve friends as good as Booth but then a darker, uglier thought twisted its way to the surface; that Booth didn't deserve him. He had just thrown his career away for him and Dr. Brennan. The least he could do was keep Daisy away. She didn't, couldn't, comprehend his choice. They were all he had. His whole family.

He felt sick at the prospect of leaving, of starting over just when he had built himself everything. He glanced once back at the party before slipping out through the kitchen and to the back door.

* * *

"Are you sure you haven't seen Lance?" Daisy asked Booth for the fourth time. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

"Nope. Haven't seen him. Anyways, like I was saying, this game was really great, you would have loved it Daisy, can't believe you missed it. Bones doesn't get football and Cam only watches it when it's important like the Superbowl. But you – you and me, we follow it! What were you doing last night that you missed the Steelers?" Daisy felt her face freeze at the memory and she could tell that Booth had been trying to avoid the conversation he had walked into. They both awkwardly looked away from each other but Daisy felt her blood boil at the memory of Lance's bare skin in the moonlight, his criss crossing scars, his scared face as he pushed her away.

"Lance and I got in a fight last night."

"What?" Booth asked distractedly, his finger in his ear as if trying to block her. She tugged impatiently on her arm and leaned in closer.

"I said we got in a fight last night." Booth's face curdled.

"Oh. Right."

"But it wasn't like anything that ever happened." Booth didn't say anything. She waited for him to ask her what had happened.

"Well?" she demanded impatiently. Booth frowned.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?"

"No," Booth said shortly.

"Why not?"

"None of my business."

"Yes it is," Daisy answered stubbornly. "Lance is your friend."

"_Sweets_," Booth stressed, "is my shrink."

"You hate when he says that," she argued back.

"Whatever," Booth muttered sourly, and Daisy took this happily for acquiescence to continue.

"It was very strange," Daisy frowned contemplatively, swirling the wine remaining in the bottom of her glass in one hand. "He kept…screaming at me." Even Booth, despite his best intentions to block her out, looked interested.

"What?"

"I know right, how could anyone scream at me? I'm adorable." Booth brushed her off.

"He was screaming?"

"Yes. Screaming."

"What was he saying?"

"Things that didn't make sense."

"Like what kinds of things?"

"You don't have to grit your teeth at me. I can't understand you when you mutter."

"It's easier to keep myself from yelling at you," Booth seethed quietly. Daisy beamed a sunny smile.

"You know, you aren't the first person to tell me that?"

"I believe you."

"You're sweet Agent Booth. I can see why Lance likes you."

"What was Sweets screaming at you?"

"Oh. Right. About how I never listen to him and…how he's not who I think he is, and something about if we have children we'll have to give them away. Then he yelled mostly about our breakup when I rejected his marriage proposal. Stupid things." Booth's face made Daisy feel suddenly small.

"What? Did I do something wrong?" She felt very idiotic, as if she had missed something obvious in organic chemistry.

"What happened yesterday?" Booth asked instead. Daisy threw her hands up in the air.

"Thank you! That's what I'd like to know. I kept asking, and asking, and _asking_ him but he wouldn't answer me! He just kept yelling. He wouldn't talk like a rational person." Daisy grew very quiet at the look on Booth's face, but only for a moment while she drank the last of her wine to give her courage.

"So…just a bad day, right?"

Booth grunted and walked away, leaving Daisy squawking behind him. Daisy contemplated running after him and causing a scene, but she met Lance's eyes for the briefest moment under the arm of Wendell pouring another glass for Dr. Saroyan and she swallowed back her protest.

"Miss Wick," a voice at her shoulder greeted her.

"Dr. Brennan!" she gasped, spinning around.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She briefly considered lying in concordance with what Lance taught her was the social norm but knew Dr. Brennan wouldn't mind her brash honesty.

"No, not really."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Brennan replied, with some surprise, and made to move on. Daisy clutched her arm.

"Aren't you going to ask me why?" she gasped. Brennan peeled away.

"No. I find I don't care," she replied just as honestly. Daisy pouted, hurt more than Brennan had been.

"Well it's Lance," she called after her in a rush, skipping half a step to keep up.

Brennan kept walking, ignoring her in favor for refilling her glass from Wendell.

"We got into a fight."

"A lovers quarrel is hardly my area of expertise, Miss Wick. Perhaps you should ask Angela," she shrugged.

"Please don't," Angela snapped, obviously having had enough wine not to feel bad in spurning Daisy. Daisy swallowed, her lower lip trembling until Angela relented and grabbed Brennan's arm, dragging her to a futon.

"Come on sweetie, let's listen to your intern before she explodes." Daisy felt herself re-inflate with pride at now having such an important audience of two.

"It's Lance."

"Oh no," Angela made to stand up in leave, but Brennan's claw like hand was anchoring her into place on the futon, as if she had dragged her down into the depths of the underworld. Daisy pretended not to notice their recalcitrance before launching forward.

"We got into a huge fight, he's acting insane, and I don't know what to do. I talked to Agent Booth and he seems worried about Lance too." At the last bit of news, both of sets of eyebrows went up.

"You talked to Booth?" Brennan asked cautiously, her esteem of Daisy's problem obviously rising.

"Yes," Daisy reiterated impatiently. "Lance was screaming at me and I kept asking him what was wrong, begging him to tell me what was really going on but he just kept going on and _on_ about how selfish I was and how he hated me and…and…" Daisy felt her eyes flood with tears.

"…and…" her nose was congested too, creating a thick, bullfrog of a voice, "…I don't think he wants to be with me anymore. But…I mean…look at me…how could he not? But…there was no warning…no anything…and today…he didn't go to work…and yesterday he came home early…he didn't even want to have sex…" she collapsed in on herself at the idea of becoming so grotesque Lancelot didn't even want to joust with her.

Angela had enough pity to sink down next to her and put a sympathetic if desperate arm around her, trying to muffle her loud wailing before the other partygoers could hear her.

"Oh God," it was Booth again. Daisy could glimpse him between her fingers. "This is ridiculous. I haven't seen this much drama since prom. I'm solving this now."

Booth marched off, veered left around the potted plant he had last seen Sweets hovering behind and found the young psychologist pretending to be absorbed in a very abstract painting behind the bar.

"Come on," he snarled, before pushing him back out through the back door Sweets had just come through.

"What the-" Sweets tried to protest, but Booth interrupted with a wave of his hand.

"Daisy is in there, bawling, ruining poor Brennan's party, which will make her very angry, and I already have one irate irrational child at home, I don't need one pissed off, hyper rational anthropologist to boot. Could you _please_ explain what the _hell_ is going on between you and Daisy?"

"Nothing," Sweets squeaked. "It was just a spat. We just haven't had time to cool off." Booth gave him a very unconvinced glare.

"Spats are two sided. From Daisy's perspective she hardly managed more than 'what's wrong?'"

"That's not true," Sweets defended in a sullen murmur. Even to his own ears it was weak.

"Look, I appreciate what you've done while Brennan's been on leave," Booth said earnestly, "really. But you need to get your home life in order before you can be in the field. You got that?" Sweets nodded miserably and Booth could sense there was something he wasn't telling him. He pressed on. "You know…that…" Booth cleared his throat. "…that I got your back. Right? That we're like partners too…sometimes."

Sweets seemed to understand Booth's offer to talk. He smiled very weakly.

"It's going to be fine," he told Booth earnestly. Booth opened his mouth to counter but at that moment Hodgins stuck his head out the back door and interrupted.

"It's speech time! And or funny drunk time. Here's to hoping Cam might sing again."

"Again?" Booth said eagerly.

"You missed it the first time." Booth groaned and dashed in after Hodgins.

And Sweets knew he was safe. He followed more slowly.

"Here he is! The man of the hour," the sardonic booming voice was Booth's and the smattered applause amidst laughter was for Sweets who flushed dully at being back in the spotlight after dodging it all night. He caught a glimpse of Daisy who was sitting red eyed and not quite meeting his gaze from one corner.

"Okay, okay," he smiled, feeling sick, holding up a hand.

"Speech," boomed Hodgins.

"It is your turn," Angela smiled.

"I got it," he promised, and cleared his throat, heart hammering. He had been working on what to say all day. The room died down to a dull murmur and then the occasional whisper, waiting for him to start.

"I started at the FBI six years ago," he began, and everyone laughed, even though nothing was funny yet. It was just the way of speeches and good wine.

"And I was scared." The laughing stopped. The room began to rustle with the quiet settling like a cloak over everyone.

"I came from a little town far away. Some of you know that my parents had just died…some of you didn't. But I had no family. I was making a name for myself. The FBI was a big step up for me….for anyone." He made eye contact briefly with Booth before dropping it and glancing at the spot on the wall, surveying the audience through unfocused eyes, a technique a colleague had taught him that made it look like he was making eye contact with everyone in the room while not making eye contact with anyone.

Someone cleared a throat. He realized it was himself. He started up again.

"I started out living alone for the first time…really ever. Without a family, without any friends…and lemme tell you, it was tough. Really tough. But then…I started working for the Jeffersonian. I met Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan…and they hated me."

A titter of laughter rippled through the room, breaking the nervous tension as Booth and Brennan tried to loudly protest this wasn't true, that it wasn't exactly how it had happened.

"And even if it wasn't how it was, it was how it had seemed. But suddenly it gave my aimless life focus. It gave it a sense of purpose. I had more cases brought to me through them than any other lines combined. We built a tentative trust. I gained more clients. The workplace opened up. I moved apartments."

The room had resumed its hush, unsure of where Sweets was going.

"And then someone else walked into my life," Sweets smiled and the room sighed a huge collective 'aww.' Daisy flushed.

"Daisy Wick got fired, and Dr. Saroyan asked me to be the one to fire her. That kiss was the start of our relationship." People clapped for them and Daisy looked close to tears as she squirmed in her seat, though Sweets could also tell she was pleased at the attention, regardless of the unpleasant memory of almost getting fired.

"We got through a lot of hard times together, Daisy and I." Sweets stopped, and he could see Angela staring hard at him. People were glancing at one another as if wondering if his pause was because he was choking up. He wasn't, but he wondered if he should be. He was stopping because he was carefully choosing how to proceed.

"But the people who have undoubtedly influenced my life the most are the people who have touched us all," and Sweets held out a hand to Brennan who had unconsciously slipped her hand into Booth's who was sitting next to her. She wrenched it away as everyone turned to glance at them, as if she had been caught doing something very wrong. They were still uncomfortable in the spotlight with their affections. Both flushed as everyone clapped. Sweets knew he had to round it up; people were getting antsy.

"Most of you are wondering why I told you about my beginnings at the FBI," Sweets forced himself to grin. An answering rumble of a chuckle from various people answered him. His grin died on his face and he could see Booth's sharp look stand out even in his unfocused sweep. "I told you because today is the ending of my career at the FBI."

A blank roar of sound threatened to spill out of every mouth but was halted by his outstretched palm.

"It won't be forever, at least I hope it won't. I have thought about it for a while now, and it's a good time to take a short sabbatical, to work on my book and to see the world." Sweets smiled wretchedly.

"To some I was talking about the Hobbit movie earlier. It's like J.R. R Tolkein once wrote: 'The road goes ever on and on,' so I'm taking a step forward today, and hopefully I'll circle back around." He made a short bow, held up a hand to a confused smattering of applause and stepped out of the semi circle of people to the side of plants where he was immediately mobbed by Booth, Hodgins, Angela and Brennan.

"What the hell was that?" Booth glared murderously with a hiss, twisting the skin of his arm and muttering the second half under his breath. "Is this what you wouldn't tell Daisy?"

"No, I told you, I tried to tell her."

"Are you serious?" Hodgins asked, his blue eyes huge with disappointment, shouldering in past Booth and forcing him to release Sweets from his grasp.

"Sweets," Angela managed, her frown confused.

"I can't, of course, stop you," Brennan corroborated, "but we'll be very sad to see you go."

"Sweets isn't leaving," Booth grunted.

"Yeah," Hodgins nodded furiously. "Where will you go?"

Sweets shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. I might travel. See the world. I have some money saved up. I've never seen Europe."

"No, no, no," Booth interrupted angrily. "We need you. I'll talk to Hacker. We'll fix it back up at work."

"I told you," Sweets said patiently, "I don't need you to. I've already talked to him. It's fine. I'm cleared to take off."

"Booth," Brennan tried to interrupt.

"This is ridiculous," Booth fumed.

"Booth," Angela agreed, pulling on his arm.

"No we need you on our cases! Who will profile?" Booth growled, rounding on Sweets. Sweets shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

"He has to do this," Brennan tugged on Booth's other arm, both women literally holding him back. Booth finally turned to his partner, seething.

"What?"

"He has to see the world, just like you did. Just like you forced Zack to do." Booth gave her a glower that could have melted steel. Brennan lifted an eyebrow. Angela was wise enough to let his arm go, but Booth had to shrug Brennan off before stalking off to find wine. He hadn't had any.

"Excuse me," Sweets muttered. He had to find Daisy.

She found him before he had even begun to look properly and kissed him on tiptoe in apology.

"I understand why you were upset now," she simpered. He stared at her in reckless abandon.

"You what?" he asked in disbelief.

"You were upset about leaving the FBI. That would be a huge change for anyone," she said simply. He canted his head and stared at her from the new angle, hoping it would make more sense from the new 90 degrees. He shrugged. It was as good as an apology as he would receive from Daisy.

"Yes," he agreed. "That was it."

"I understand. You're lucky that I approve of your decision." Sweets bit the inside of his cheek in exasperation and tried not to hurl the glass in his hand at her face.

"I don't suppose you'd want to come with me?"

"To Europe?"

"To anywhere."

"To see the world?"

"Yes Daisy. I'm asking if you'd like to see the world with me."

"Well that's very romantic."

"Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be romanced by your Prince Charming?" His voice had a faintly cruel, mocking edge to it that she apparently didn't pick up on.

She thought about it for a whole minute before resolutely shaking her head. "No, no thank you. Dr. Brennan can't function without me."

Sweets seriously doubted it but declined to mention it. "You went to the Maluku islands."

"That was for work. Lance, you _love_ your job. I don't understand why you would simply…pick up and leave your life."

He evaded her questions. Daisy was very, very smart. Much smarter than he sometimes gave her credit for. She was gullible and naïve sometimes, but sharper than a double-edged sword. Hebrews 4:12. His father's favorite verse, tattooed on his arm above his fireman's symbol. His head spun with too much wine.

"I do love my work Daisy, and my book _is_ my work. I'm working on that now."

"Well what would I do while you wrote?"

"You could do whatever you wanted!"

"Lay out on the beach in Greece?"

"Explore Madrid."

"Dig up artifacts in Rome?"

"Backpack across Switzerland."

"Lance that sounds incredibly dull."

Sweets goggled at her.

"My life here has meaning and purpose, what could you offer me in that scenario that I couldn't get here?" He stared at her, dumbfounded, only able to mouth the word that his heart was screaming to say:

"…me." Her face fell like a thunderstorm.

"Oh…oh Lance I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't know how else you meant it."

"I just meant Dr. Brennan needs me in the lab."

"But…I love you."

"And I love you," she returned eagerly. "Truly, I do. But if you love me, you have to love me for how I _am_ Lance. How I'm made. You can't love how you wish I was. A girl you wish would come with you and languor at the beach." Sweets gulped and stared at her, wondering if Daisy would ever wear a polka dot string bikini and a big floppy sun hat.

"Well…I hope you'll be here when I get back then." She pressed her thin lips together and shrugged.

"Me too Lance." She touched his arm with a lopsided smile and a bat of her eyelashes. "You have a gift…don't waste it on this sabbatical too long."

"Thank you Daisy. I have a headache. I'm sure you can find your own way home since you found your own way here." And with that petty comment, he left her standing stunned in the doorframe, feeling smaller than he had since gradeschool.

* * *

(Title Track: Down by Mat Kearney)


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